


carrot and stick

by Knightblazer



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Bottom Hank, Dark, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Partial Mind Control, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Top Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 08:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15968465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightblazer/pseuds/Knightblazer
Summary: Pain isn't the only way to train a stubborn fledgling. (Vampire AU PWP)





	carrot and stick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [draaagon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/draaagon/gifts).



> Written for Jan because she deserves it and also we are both weak to vampires and I am thirsty af. 
> 
> Also its been a million years since I've written porn so thank u dbh, I guess.

“You’re doing so well, Hank.”

Hank tries to ignore the crackle of pleasure that runs down his spine, wants to deny the way his legs tremble at the press of Connor’s slick fingers against his ass. But Connor knows him too well at this point and can easily play him like a fiddle. All of this is just—just Connor toying with him, like a how a predator toys with their prey before they devour it.

(He avoids thinking about how that thought jolts something warm and sticky in his gut.)

He feels the slow curve of Connor’s smile against his shoulder moments before the finger inside of him crooks in just the right way to wrench out a gasp from Hank. He can feel the tremble in his arms, elbows threatening to buckle, and if wasn’t for Connor’s arm around his waist Hank knows he probably would have buckled under his own weight a while ago. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Who knows. The last thing Hank wants to think about is—

“You’re doing _so_ well,” Connor murmurs the words once more against the shell of his ear, and Hank hates every part of him that shivers and thrills under the praise, that burgeoning part of him that he knows Connor is nurturing every time they do this. Try as he might he always cracks just a little faster each time, and Hank hates it. He hates how much a part of him is actually liking this. It’s nothing but the worst kind of humiliation somebody like him could ever have.

Connor shifts forward, and Hank finds himself staring at the tacky wallpaper of this building as his forehead presses against it. It’s bright pink with a dark red pattern of petals that look just like droplets. Red droplets.

Hank squeezes his eyes shut and bites down the whine that threatens to escape him.

Connor hums into his ear. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? You must be so very hungry. I can smell the desperation from you.” His voice is velvet soft, deceptively so. Hank hates it. He hates everything about Connor. His voice, his eyes, his hands, his body—everything. He hates it so much he wants to rip it apart the first chance he gets and drown in his blood.

Hank feels something prickling at the corner of his lips.

“Yes.” Connor crooks his fingers within him again, and Hank wants nothing more than to deny the groan that rips out from his throat, to be ignorant to the shiver that wracks through his body at the cascade of warm satisfaction that slithers across him like warm, liquid honey. “I’ll let you taste it. But only if you’re being good for me, Hank.”

He doesn’t want it—he doesn’t want any of it. He wants to kill Connor for doing this to him instead, for taking away everything he had for some stupid, selfish reason. He had a _life_ , a job, a purpose, but all of that had been ripped away in the span of one night, leaving him with _this_. This… mockery of a life. He wants to kill Connor. Kill him and make him pay in blood.

The prickling at his lips turns into a full-on sting, and Hank gasps in pain. His tongue tastes the smallest tinge of his own iron and Hank finds himself struggling against Connor’s grasp as he whines, the fangs in his mouth extending to their maximum length.

“There we go.” More warm satisfaction seeps through their bond, coiling around his insides, making Hank writhe uselessly. He hates it, he hates it but he’s so _hungry_ and he’s drooling all over himself, a slave to his instincts. A slave to _Connor’s_ instincts, and Hank will kill him one day for it. All he has to do is to endure. He can endure. He has to. All he has to do is—

Connor brushes his fingers over the head of his cock.

Hank jerks forward despite himself, eyes squeezed shut once more so that he doesn’t have to see how hard he feels. He bites down onto his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and summons up everything inside of himself to not _whine_ when Connor gently traces a finger down the length of his cock.

“So needy,” he mutters, the words clearly more for himself than Hank. “That’s always the problem with fledglings, they can’t control themselves. But that’s alright.” Fingers dance across his gut, idly tracing the finer hairs there, and Hank feels his cock twitch when those same cool fingers carefully wrap around the base of his erection. “That’s why I’m here, Hank. I won’t ever leave you alone.”

The same words Connor had seduced him with. _You’ll never be alone again._ And he had been weak, so weak, so very weak. He was old and lonely and Connor had been the first kind of company in such a long time. Honeyed words and clever hands, warm smile and gorgeous body. But he should have known better than to let down his guard like that. 

Nearly three decades of being in the business and this is how he falls. Fowler would be rolling in his grave.

He turns his head and sends an icy glare to Connor. “Fuck you,” he growls with every ounce of hatred he has in his entire being. Fuck Connor and fuck vampires and fuck himself for being old and stupid and gullible.

Connor barely bats an eyelash at the expletive. “Perhaps when you are good enough to listen to me properly,” he replies, “but I think right now I’d rather fuck you instead.”

Hank doesn’t even have a chance to respond to that before Connor removes his fingers and replaces it with his cock. After how long Connor has spent teasing him it slides inside in one smooth thrust, and Hank can only shudder at the sensation; any discomfort he might have felt is quickly taken away by the way Connor rubs his thumb at the head of his cock, idly spreading the precome that has gathered there.

“Needy,” he says, all too fondly over the sounds of Hank’s quiet groans as Connor starts to roll his hips. His precision is inhumanly unerring, striking his prostate each and every time. Hank feels himself starting to unravel even when he doesn’t want to, systematically taken apart by pleasure because all he’s known before this had been pain and heartbreak. It’s why he’s so weak, weak enough to fall into a trap like this, so weak that he let himself get bitten and enthralled. He’s so weak to how good all of this feels.

Even without his powers Connor has done this enough times to know when and where to slow down or pick up, to keep him stretched out on the precipice where all he wants is _more_. And Hank—weak as he is, hungry as he is, always ends up cracking. He no longer has the mental capacity to count the seconds before he claws at the wall, fangs extended and his world narrows down to nothing else but Connor. His scent, his taste, his _blood_ —

The scent hits his nose first and Hank goes wild over it. He moans and pushes back against Connor, squirming as Connor’s cock rubs up against the most sensitive parts of him inside. He’s so hard but the need he feels is vastly outweighed by the _hunger_ that surges through him like wildfire, and it only grows when Connor brings his hand in front of him. He can now actually _see_ the blood that swells up from the bites that Connor has made on his fingers and it makes him _want_. He can’t remember when had been the last time he had actually fed. 

The fingers inch closer to his mouth. Hank whines, sharp and incessant, and he sticks his tongue out in a desperate bid to try and get any drop of blood that might come his way. Connor smells so fucking good and Hank knows from experience that he tastes just as good. There are times when Connor strings him up so bad that all it takes from him to come is a single drop of Connor’s blood.

“This is why you should listen to me.” Connor’s voice is strong and commanding now, like iron bands around his mind that Hank can’t pull away from no matter how he tries. God, he’s so hungry. He’ll do anything Connor wants him to. He’ll listen and be good if Connor just brings his hand over. “I don’t want you to suffer any more, Hank. As long as you listen to me, I’ll always make you feel good.”

The burgeoning part of him wants nothing more than to listen to Connor, to do nothing else but keep Connor happy so that he’ll make _Hank_ happy, but a bigger part of him can’t have that. He’s seen what happens to thralls when they’re abandoned by their masters. He’ll never survive that. He doesn’t want to.

Connor hums in understanding, as if he’s felt and heard Hank’s internal conflict. “It’s alright. We have all the time in the world to make you understand, Hank. I’m feeling generous enough today.” He slides his bloodied fingers into Hank’s mouth after those words and his tongue threatens to burst with the flavors that coat across his taste buds. All the alcohol he’s drank in his life pales in comparison to the rich flavor of Connor’s mouth in his mouth. The sweetest nectar, the finest wine, the best mead—it's like everything delicious he’s ever had is all concentrated onto Connor’s blood and Hank is lost.

He sucks greedily on Connor’s fingers, taking in every drop of blood that Connor is giving him. His maker’s blood flows through him better than any compliment or praise that he gives, setting his nerves alight and burning through his body with exquisite pleasure. Connor presses his fingers down onto his tongue as he fucks him harder, the pressure causing more blood to flow out of the wound, giving more for Hank to suck. Hank does so with a loud moan, and he can feel drool leaking out from the corners of his lips and sliding down his neck, over the spot where it sends an even bigger shudder through him.

Connor presses a kiss on that spot and smiles against his skin. Hank moans again, too lost in need and pleasure to register anything else beyond his own wants. He feels the old wounds there ache and it causes his cock to twitch in Connor’s other hand.

“Is this want you want?” The words are light and teasing, a complete counterpoint to how hard Connor is fucking him right now, every thrust driving Hank further out of his mind. “My bite? Claim you again, just as I’ve done all the other times? Do you want me to make you feel so good that you come?”

He doesn’t want it. He shouldn’t want it, but he’s so hard and needy and Connor’s blood is sending him to a high no human drug would have ever been able to achieve. His ears ring with nothing else except the sound of his own moaning and the slick way Connor pounds into him. Connor’s thumb continues to tease the head of his cock, every movement driving him further up the wall. It feels so good and it should not be so good and he needs to say no, should say no, never say no—

Connor grazes his fang over his neck as presses down his fingers and makes one firm thrust.

Hank feels himself crumble. 

“ _Yes_ ,” he moans desperately around Connor’s fingers. He can’t bring himself to care anymore, not like this, not right now. “Yes, please, I’ll do anything, just—”

Hank doesn’t get to finish because Connor sinks his fangs into his neck and Hank _screams_. His orgasm hits him like a fucking truck, sharp and intense and powerful and all-consuming. He feels himself shaking apart right there and then, every last thought vanishing into dust as he comes and comes and comes, fucked in every possible way. His mind goes blank with pleasure that stretches on for so long Hank thinks he could easily be in there forever.

By the time he comes back to his senses he’s lying down in bed, face mashed against Connor’s chest, tongue absently lapping up the blood from a small wound that Connor must have made for him.

He feels Connor smiling into his hair. “A little treat for being such a good boy for me,” he murmurs, and this time Hank can’t stop the way his body shivers at the praise and the way Connor’s own pleasure bleeds into his own head. Connor always makes him feel so good and Hank knows that it will always be a matter of time before he’s completely lost to everything that Connor wants for him. He should be scared. He should hate it. Fight it. Resent it.

But right now, as he lays in bliss in his maker’s arms, Hank can’t find it within himself to care.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like MORE VAMPIRES, check out [if there are monsters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15867753/chapters/36966456) done by **theslap (bigspoonnoya)** because ngl that fic reawakened by vampire thirst. Thank u author of that fic for making it happen in my life, if you happen to read this.
> 
> Also [this image](https://twitter.com/thefullkamski/status/1037497679155273729) was a huge inspiration for this fic so thank u as well, amazing artist. The Hankcon army makes my day. :|b


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